Adventures in Gabbiland
by Honour Society
Summary: What happens when a giraffe and her twin sister, Mary Sue, fall through a tunnel and wind up in OCD's bomb shelter? A blatant Clique parody. You've been warned. For Cela Fille.
1. Meet The NPC

**Author's Note: **Inspired by a chat I had with Cela Fille. _**Just so you all know, this is a blatant Clique parody and me making fun of all those insert-myself-in-the-Clique stories muddling up this fandom. I'm sure some of them are well-written enough, but come on! Does "Mary Sue" mean anything to you? **_This is all meant in good fun. Don't flame me. **Read on and cringe. You've been warned. **

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. 'Specially not the dialogue taken from The Clique novel, "Bratfest at Tiffany's."

**ADVENTURES IN GABBILAND **

_-A _Clique _parody written by: Honour Society- _

It all started a couple minutes ago when my fraternal twin sister, Mary Sue, decided we should go on a picnic. And because it was her idea and she is perfect in every way possible, our parents agreed. Minutes after arriving at the private park that is on our property (as we are insanely rich...or merely "insane" and "rich.), however, my mother claimed she had a bout of the stomach flu and left to have a "chat" with the gardener. Not long after that, my father ran out of alcohol, so he went back inside the house for some more.

"Hey, Mary." I turned to my beautiful, talented, kind-hearted sister with an evil smirk on my face.

"Yes, darling?"

"Would you read me a story?" I asked kindly, tucking my feet behind me as she laid out the checkerboard-patterned picnic blanket.

"Of course, button." From our picnic basket, she produced a thin tome with a glossy photo of several snotty girls on the cover and a pattern of chandeliers not unlike the ones found on daddy's golfing socks.

"Ahem." Throat cleared, she flipped through the copyright and title pages to find the first chapter. "_All students must keep out until 8 A.M. No exceptions. 'Puh-lease!' Massie Block ripped the sign off the frosted glass doors of the Cafe."_

It was around this time that I saw it. A gross, flat-faced puppy dog running through the garden. Now, unlike a whiny blonde girl you may be familiar with, who, despite being allergic to dogs and yet petting them, I hate dogs. And would never deign to touch them. But, then again, something had to be done about this horrible creature. So I did what any girl would do. Grabbed my handy-dandy broom and went chasing after the thing.

_Oomph._ While in pursuit of the mangy mutt — and not the Trivial kind —, I'd fallen into a bottomless pit of darkness.

"WHERE THE HELL AM I?" I shouted as loud as I could, feeling my way around in the darkness.

"Shh!" A stern voice reprimanded me. The sound of clunky loafers approaching sent chills up my spine. They were getting closer. What was going on? Where's Mary Sue?

"Excuse me, young lady. But this is a children's book. We do not use that kind of language around here." A wrinkly hand grabbed my elbow and dragged me around in the darkness. Weird. Since when do children not curse? After pressing a complicated series of glowing buttons, straight out of the Star Wars saga, she dragged me through a tiny hole. Me, being a giraffe, and therefore, tall, banged my head on the tunnel's low ceiling several times. That was going to leave a bump.

"This is OCD's Bomb Shelter," the creepy old lady hissed conspiratorally. Man, was this a long tunnel. After ten more minutes of walking, I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Oh, God. Am I dead?" I caught a brief look of her face, illuminated by the white light. "I always imagined angels as...less wrinkled."

"What's that you say? You can't say that here, either!" Reconsidering, she explained the exception: "You can only say 'Gawd,' so as not to offend our more religious readers."

"We're here." The old woman stepped ahead of me. For an old lady, she had amazing grip on my arm. She sharply tugged on it. "Quickly, now. OCD's most exclusive clique, The Pretty Committee, might still be here, skipping class and claiming they ate bad sushi after."

And 'here' they were.

"Ehmagawd!" A nasal, New York-accented voice screeched. "Who are yew?"

"Gabbi." I paused, "Why do you talk like that? And why do you all say 'click' instead of 'cleek?'"

"You talk funny," the tallest of the five girls, with hair not unlike Ronald McDonald's, said while pinching her exposed belly. It was as flat and pale as a washboard.

"At least I don't draw out my syllables like all of you do." I paused and took some time to take in their bizarre appearances.

All five of the girls wore brightly-coloured couture despite their being my same age. I idly wondered how they got designers to tailor their outfits so much; they were pretty short. The tallest, Ronald, was about 5'6. I was already 5'8 and my extended family were placing bets in Canadian casinos as to how tall I would end up. My Aunt swore I'd make six feet by the time I finished high school. I hoped not.

"Kristen," I turned to the tiny, oddly muscular girl who was sitting in the corner of the bomb shelter, rocking back and forth slowly, whispering math equations and soccer plays like a maniac. "What colour are your eyes? I've always wanted to know. Are they celery green or navy blue?"

At this time, I discovered the reason for her acting like a physco. For one, everyone was ignoring her. For another, her eyes were rapidly changing colour every nanosecond. I wondered if it hurt. I figured it did.

"Nurse Adele?" asked the tiniest of the bunch. Her hair was stuffed awkwardly into two pigtails and she seemed to be wearing the least makeup. It hurt my eyes to look at her lips, as with all the other girls. They were like heated glass. Completely glossy.

"Oh, Claire... What have they done to you? Where is your personality? Remember back in the first book when you stood up to Massie and pulled pranks on her? You do realize this 'Pretty Committee' of yours is extremely similar to a cult, right?"

The identical girls — and the one Spanish one — exchanged weird looks.

Brushing her pin-straight hair out of her 'naturally' tanned face, the Spanish one spoke: "We are kind of like a cult, aren't we?"

"Wait, Nurse Adele!" Claire called loudly and dramatically. The leader of the group with the freaky yellow eyes glared at her. Instantly, Claire clammed up and whispered softly, "Where were you from books three to eight?"

"I was looking for you! In the bomb shelter's tunnel! I'm so glad I've found you!"

Yellow Eyes gave Claire the look of death. "Talk to that LBR, Claire, and you can consider yourself kicked out of the NPC!"

"Why are you called the 'New Pretty Committee' anyway? Besides the weirdo with yellow eyes getting a purple streak and everyone else — except Alicia Rivers — undergoing some minor appearance changes, YOU ARE EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE OLD PRETTY COMMITTEE!" Everyone turned to glare at me.

"But, you know," Claire stated timidly, "she does have a point." Small shrugs went around the group. Ha! I knew I was right!

"What's that noise?" Dylan asked, wrinkling her nose which much resembled the bunny slope at this ski lodge I went to in Whistler one year.

"EHMAGAWWWWWD!"

And that was when my perfect sister, Mary Sue, fell through the ceiling of the bomb shelter.


	2. The Wicked Witch of OCD

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own anything. But, oh, the things I would change with The Clique if I did...

**A/N:_ And the evilness continues..._I just want to say that the response I've been getting is amazing. So far, I've got a couple reviewers asking about the "Gawd" vs. "God" debacle and that's something I've always been confused about. The PC, them I can understand not swearing. They're "classy." Whatever. But Layne and the Briarwood boys? I mean, c'mon Lisi. I don't think I know any seventh-eighth grader who doesn't drop the f-bomb once in a while. Or at least say "crap." **

"WHY ARE ALL THESE LBRS CONTAMINATING MY LAIR?"

I took the pregnant pause that followed to whisper to Nurse Adele, "What's with all the acronyms?"

She merely shook her grey-bobbed head. "Kids today. Why can't they leave this coded words in the chatrooms?"

Alicia Rivers looked affronted at Massie's outburst; she drew a blood-red manicured hand to her ample cleavage. I figured she was taking experimental drugs. Besides, any girl in the eighth grade who "developed" earlier than most would be doomed to wear oversized college hoodies and full-coverage tees from the Disney Store with Winnie the Pooh and Tinker Bell printed across the front. "Mah-ssie? Your lair? I thought I was your beta. I thought it was 'our lair.' I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!"

Massie, aka Yellow Eyes, sniffed a haughty laugh. "It was a moment of pure insanity. Sorry, Leesh."

"I've always wondered why she calls you Leesh," I chimed in. "But now I know. She's got you on one. Oh, and Macy?" I turned to Yellow Eyes. "You know you're named after a department store, right?"

"It's pronounced 'Massie!' As in 'rhymes with sassy!'" Yellow Eyes looked positively outraged as she slammed her limited-edition purple Pucci-print purse (say that five times fast) on the table she was currently occupying. "Gawd, how hard is that to say?"

Kristen, the smart one, swiped at a couple falling tears before adding, "It also rhymes with grassy."

"And brassy," Alicia Rivers added, drawing an imaginary 'one' in the air. "Point!"

"Why do you talk that way?" I questioned, just as Claire, through her happy tears at being reunited with Nurse Adele, interjected "Glassy."

Mary Sue stomped her designer-boot-clad foot in outrage. "Yoo-hoo! I'm over here!" Even though she was covered in dirt and soot and ceiling tiles were stuck to her luscious brunette locks with natural auburn and golden highlights, she was still incomparably gorgeous. Her outfit was definitely a "10.0" on Massie's Scale: a short-sleeve ivory jersey blouse with lace trim along the low-scooping V-neckline and sleeves, a pair of Abercrombie jeans tailored into barely-butt-covering cutoffs, gold earrings shaped like keys and Dries van Noten gladiator sandals that tied all the way up her flawless calves.

"Hey, Massie!" Dylan, the annoyingly vulnerable one, grabbed my twin sister by her bony shoulders and pushed her into Massie's now-empty chair. "You're O-U-T out. This girl is a thousand times hawter than you. She's our new alpha. Our Alpha with a capital-A. Lisi keeps changing the spelling, so I'm a little confused! What were we talking about?" Dylan burped loudly. Then giggled. "Your name rhymes with gassy, too."

"And Lassie." Everyone looked at me. "What did I say?"

"It's true, you know." Alicia Rivers drew another 'one' in the air and muttered to herself, "Point..."

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING, GUYS?" Never one to cry, even in a dire situation such as this, Massie yelled as loud as she possibly could — she had to talk over the sound of the popcorn machine and TV playing the NPC's new fave movie, _Camp Rock __—_ and yet no teachers came to check it out.

"Um, isn't it obvi?" Alicia Rivers rolled her 'dancing' brown eyes like a Magic Eight ball. "You're, like, totally out of the NPC."

"I CREATED YOU!" Massie was completely overdoing it now. She ripped off the Tiffany bracelet she'd had engraved with 'NPC: ALPHA MASSIE' off her bony wrist and threw it to the floor of the bomb shelter. She then preceded to stomp on it with her Gucci-clad foot.

Shrugging their shoulders, the other girls followed suite (because, really, did they have anything better to do?) and unclasped their bracelets which merely said 'NPC: RANDOM GIRL' and had a charm of a ball & chain. They found the bracelets couldn't come off.

"What's happening, Massie?" Claire whined, clawing at her wrist. "Why won't they come off?"

Grinning like an idiot, Massie merely cackled evilly before making a dramatic exit from the Bomb Shelter in a puff of smoke.

"..."

An awkward moment passed. No one knew quite what to do without their leader; some of the former-NPC girls were still struggling to undo their silver bracelets; most of them had shrugged it off and returned to watching the made-for-TV movie. Dylan was furiously eating popcorn and pinching her waistband after every handful. Alicia Rivers was now filing her nails; she looked completely lost. Kristen was tentatively getting up from her seat in the corner and attempting to start a conversation with Dylan. Now that she had her free will back, Claire was hugging Nurse Adele through teary eyes and filling her in on what had happened between books three and eight.

"A boyfast?" The elderly nurse repeated incredulously. "Aren't you girls kind of old for that 'ew, boys are icky' routine?"

"I never thought of it like that," Claire admitted. In a flash of remembrance, she slipped out of her Massie-approved two-inch heels and into the pair of scuffed Keds she always kept in her backpack.

Mary Sue sighed and adjusted her side-bangs. "This place is so weird."

I nodded my head. "You got that right."

At that moment, the doorbell Massie had installed upon moving into the bomb shelter — as creepy as that was — rang several times to the beat of a Pussycat Dolls song. I had no clue which. They all sounded kind of the same, didn't they? In fact, those girls kind of reminded me of the NPC. None of them had personalities or names except the lead singer. Seriously, name the rest of the Dolls. You can't, can you?

"Who's there?" Alicia Rivers called, using her most sultry voice in case it was a boy.

"Several members of the Briarwood Tomahawks soccer team. Only a couple of us, though. The ones you guys take turns crushing and-slash-or dating, because, really, who cares about the other players?"

"EEEK!" All the girls screamed at once. Immediately, they began digging through their designer purses for lip-gloss. This was a momentous occasion! They were allowed to act...on their own impulses, of their own minds, in front of boys! Without Massie dictating their every breath.

Mary Sue and I exchanged a look.

"Single-sex schools." She shook her perfect head. "They're ruining our economy."

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, MS, but for one: you share initials with an autoimmune disease, did you know that? And two: what does this have to do with economy?"

Mary Sue shrugged.

"Hello?" A prepubescent voice called from behind the bomb shelter's entrance. "Isn't anyone going to let us in?"


	3. Callouses and Alfred Hitchcock

**Author's Note: **More on the "God vs. Gawd" debacle. I completely forgot to mention this in my last A/N, but some people have raised the point that the "aw" the PC uses could merely be an accent. Of course it could, that's a very good point. Just...explain to me why only five girls have that accent? Why none of the leud, butt-baring Briarwood boys ever say "crap" or (at the very least) "oh my god" or anything normal seventh-graders would say?

**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything, 'cept for my original characters.

Of course, the boys had keys to the room because for some bizarre reason (in spite of the fact that none of the teachers knew this room existed) it was where they held unsupervised soccer meetings. Yeah, I don't understand that logic either. But don't blame me. Blame that confused woman down in Laguna Beach.

Standing before Mary Sue (who's eyelashes were fluttering seductively) and I were five boys. One for each of the PC, how did that work out? They were all wearing soccer uniforms, the long shorts just exposing their knees. Idly, I noticed that one of them, who stood in front of all the other guys, had the purplest knees I'd ever seen. He walked right up to Mary Sue, smirking.

"Derrick Harrington, pleasure to meet you."

From behind us, the glossy-lipped girls narrowed their eyes at him. Strange how over the course of a couple books he lost the "mumbling" quality to him and become Mr. Confident Loud Voice. They also coughed, "Derrington!" which was just about the stupidest thing I'd heard them say all day. What did they call Massie? Mock? What about Kristen? Kregory? It was so strange.

But then again, everything down in this bomb shelter was strange. What kind of contractor would build a school overtop a bomb shelter without knocking down the thing first? You can't really expect me to believe OCD's been around since the Cold War. Come on, how could a school with ATM machines and a STARBUCKS INSIDE be that old? Starbucks, I tell you! I want some! I love those little mint packages you can buy, you know? The ones that give you fresh breath after drinking over-flavoured coffee drinks?

The other guys briefly introduced themselves. None of them could take their eyes off of Mary Sue. She was beaming from all the attention. The rest of the PC had retreated to Kristen's corner and were humming along with the annoying songs of _Camp Rock. _

The one with the freaky different-coloured eyes was Cam. He looked longingly at Claire. She merely "Hmmph!"ed, but some tears were stinging at her eyes. God. Did that girl _ever_ stop crying?

The unremarkable one pulled out his camera phone and snapped several Miley Cyrus-esque pictures of Mary Sue. She licked her lips. Good lord. Sometimes I wish my gorgeously perfect twin sister wasn't so much of a slut. _His_ name was Kemp Hurley.

"As in that fat unlucky guy from _Lost_?" I asked curiously. They did share that bushy hair...

"Who?" Kemp seemed '_lost_.' Pardon the pun. Whoops. I forgot that they say "damn" in that show. Way too mature for eighth graders!

The other unremarkable one made some snorting sounds in Dylan's direction before joining Mary Sue in the photo-op. His name was Chris, but they called him Plovert because Massie briefly dated another guy named Chris before he disappeared from the face of the earth.

Pig sounds?

Dylan sniffed in the background, "They've been sending me clip-art photos of pigs since the seventh book." Clip-art photos of pigs? Lame. Why didn't she just block their phone numbers? I voiced my concern.

"Oh." She seemed to brighten a bit. "I never thought of that." Immediately, she pulled out her mint-green phone and blocked their numbers. Abruptly, the pictures stopped flooding her inbox. "Yay!" she cheered.

The one with the baseball cap looked shyly at Alicia, even as he was gazing adoringly at Mary Sue. I wondered if the attention she garnered from...well, pretty much everyone with a pulse ever got boring. By the look on her face, I'd wager not.

"NINA IS BACK WITH A VENGEANCE!" And she was. Nina Callas. Standing on the threshold. Wearing a pair of booty shorts, a low-cut tank top that belonged in the underwear section of a Victoria's Secret catalogue, and hooker boots, no less. Her tanned arms stretched over her glossy head. She pouted.

Everyone looked bored.

"Hey, Nina!" Alicia called, arms crossed over her chest which — as every girl knows — only increased the in-your-face effect of her cleavage. Who knew one girl's boobs could be such an important plot point? "Go back to Spain! You're last year's news!"

Nina's dark eyes widened. She looked hurt. Personally, I didn't see why everyone was being so mean to her. She was exactly like Massie: mean, scheaming, etc... Only sluttier. And despite heavily implying that she wasn't a virgin, of course she is, because come on. It's a kid's book. AND THEY'RE IN THE EIGHTH GRADE! (Although Nina was actually a year older, but, whatever.)

"Me? Last year's news? Impossible? I'm Spanish, hawt, and utter perfection!"

"No you're not." Alicia pointed at Mary Sue. "She's our new alpha. We dumped Miss Limo Legs."

"Really?" Nina walked over to her cousin. "Hmm. I never liked her anyways. Those jokes of hers? Yeah, so not funny."

"Ah-greed."

"STOP TALKING LIKE THAT!" I yelled. Seriously. This was getting annoying. "Hey, Nina?"

"Yes?"

"You know your last named is pronounced 'callous', right? As in rough hands and/or being emotionally hardened?"

"Wha-at?"

"HELLO, MY PRETTIES! I'M BACK FROM AUSTRALIA! BASK IN THE GLORY THAT IS ABBY BOYD!"

Cue the dramatic music.

"What about me?" A low voice hissed.

"_Oh, yeah..._ AND CONNOR FOLEY WHO COINCIDENTALLY SHARES INITIALS WITH CLAIRE'S FORMER BOYFRIEND, CAM FISHER, IS HERE, TOO! CLAIRE, I SHALL HAVE MY REVENGE UPON YOU! I SHALL SEDUCE CAM BECAUSE EVERY MOVIE I'M IN IS A HORRIBLE FLOP THAT STEALS ITS NAME FROM ALFRED HITCHCOCK FILMS!"

"I'm standing right here, you know," Cam said.

"WHATEVER!"


	4. Um, lyk, who rly cars abt thm?

**Disclaimer:_ I own absolutely nothing._**

**Author's Note: **I know, I know! This one is very short, but I had to post it. Any suggestions on who should make an appearance next?

Lips popped open. Eyes widened. Hearts stopped. Okay, the last one was a bit of hyperbole, but come on. What else was I supposed to say? "Eyebrows raised"? How cliché is that?

Abby Boyd, sporting a little gamine 'do courtesy of Supercuts or one of those other chains moms take their misbehaving kids, grinned as she delicately placed a hand on her jutted-out hip. A real, live movie star. Wow-ee.

"Ehmagawd!" the members of the NPC squealed behind me, puckering their lips and forming a cocoon around the pleasantly boring teen starlet. Abby was wearing — Aw, who really cares? She already got a whole book devoted to her faux-ness and glittering eye makeup.

Behind the long-legged brunette was Connor Foley. He winked and instantly Dylan and Kristen went weak in the knees. Alicia rolled her eyes. In between ridiculously, obviously fake-coughs she choked "Old news!" For once, and probably last, I agreed with Alicia Rivers.

Meanwhile, Claire found comfort in Kristen's old corner. She was in the middle of a nervy, her eyebrows wiggling erratically, her blond hair frizzy and wild. It goes without saying, that her eyes were rimmed with red. A single tear made a track down her cheek like in oneof those Oscar-nominated films that never wins Best Picture. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say her nervy had to do with Connor's unwanted presence, but really, who knew with that girl? I bet that, in the next book, she admits to being totally preggers, knocked up, bun-in-her-oven. Only the pregnant can be so emotionally unstable and hormonal...

"Where's Velvet?" Connor asked in a grossly "does-this-sound-sexy-to-you?" way.

Everyone looked blankly at him.

Alicia Rivers got the in-joke first. Her dark eyebrows knit. Her pouty, WAY-over-glossed lips formed a straight line. "Oh. You mean Mah-ssie."

Kristen chimed in, hands on hips. "Massie's reign as NPC Alpha is o-ver."

"So over," Dylan burped. She giggled and covered her mouth with her wrist.

"Why must you repeat everything they say? Ehmagawd, that is so ah-nnoying —" Instantaneously, my palm smacked over my mouth. I looked at my hands; they were shaking wildly. A strange voice (which coincidentally sounded just like Darth Vader's, but my conscience has always sounded like that from watching the _original Star Wars_ saga too many times as a child) went_: Must apply gloss. Must apply gloss. MUST. APPLY. GLOSS! _

As an internal battle was going on inside my mind (_Good vs. evil_), Abby was licking her lips in Cam's direction. Oblivious to the scene unfolding before them, the soccer boys (plus Mary Sue, _natch_) were playing gin. Every time Derrick won, he pulled down his shorts and exposed his pasty white butt cheeks. Classy. I didn't even bother to wonder why he was going commando. Maybe it was the unwritten rule of popularity, the Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt not wear thy underpants.

Idly, I wondered if pointing out that Nina had snuck out the tunnel and was currently stuck inside of it — her skinny arms flailing like a drowning middle-aged man — was the right thing to do. Oh, well. She was a slut and a thief anyway. Her five-finger discount had snapped Mary Sue's headband off her pretty little perfect head. Nina attempted to pull some of Mary's hair off, believing they were extensions. Don't be fooled by her loveliness. She is one hundred percent _au naturel. _

"Um, hi."

No one bothered cranking their heads around to see who was there this time. It was getting ridiculous.

"Besides, like, aw-nestly." Alicia popped her banana-flavoured gum in her mouth. "Like, everyone on the A-List is here already. 'Cept for that socially awkward newborn giraffe with the twisted ankles. I have no clue why _sheeee_ is here."

Massie chimed in, non-helpfully, from the tunnel she was lurking in, "It's probably some Blister."

"You have a blister?" I continued, "It's probably from those ugly-ass shoes of yours, girl. Isn't there some sort of a dress code at this school of improbabilities? DON'T YOU HAVE TO CLIMB STAIRS OR, um, WALK??"

"Walk?" Massie and her creepy eyes stared back at me, unblinking, from her tunnel. "What is this 'walk' of which you speak? Don't I have LBRs to do that for me?"

I placed my palm to my forehead. "_Aw-nestly_ —" I stopped, mid-sentence. IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN! I'M TURNING INTO...ONE OF _THEM_. I could feel my hair becoming glossy...

"MWAH HA HA!" Massie cackled. "GABBI, I AM YOUR ALPHA!"

"HELLO?" With some struggle, a protest sign-wielding Layne Abeley, and "Meena" and "Heather" I have no defining characteristics for them, they are bland followers of Layne. I'm beginning to wonder if this "Lisi" character had some troubled childhood friendships. Everyone seems to be following someone and no one genuinely _likes _each other. God. Being at OCD was like being in some political pool of self-reflection. I really need to stop carrying on such long conversations with myself...

"Oh. Layne," Claire greeted weakly from her corner, where she was batting of Connor's flirting with her old beaded bracelets from Orlando. The ones that Massie-of-Jedi-mind-control made her throw away. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back... But, you know..."

"NO. I don't know, Miss Pretty Committee. You think that just because you're momentarily a member of 'OCD's hottest clique' you can completely ignore me..._er, us_?" Layne snapped.

In the background, Meena and Heather whispered, "Need some ointment for that wicked burn?"

"No... I — I..."

"Shut up, beyotch," Layne said with a flick of her wrist. "You're out of our Nameless Clique. In fact, you never _were_ in. Go paint your nails or something."

As if reading from a pre-assigned college textbook, Kristen recited: "As members of the Pretty Committee, it is against our law to paint our nails ourselves. We must have them done by a professional, preferably one with a recommendation from our Alpha, Mary Sue."

And with that, Layne, Meena and Heather left, as the opening lyrics to a chant for their Cause of the Month — Save The Pointless Background Characters — started up.


	5. Nina's End and Doritos' Revenge

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Like you couldn't figure that out.

**Author's Note: **This chapter is dedicated to the pioneers of crack!pairings. To anyone who ships the unlikely couples, this is for you. Enjoy.

_Oh my god. Can I just say THIS CHAPTER WAS IMPOSSIBLY FUN TO WRITE. Thanks to Cela Fille for her great suggestions. Time for the parody favourite: Spin the shampoo bottle! _

_--_

After several futile attempts to neck with Cam, Abby, looking more morose and defeated than she had since starring in _Vertical_, decided to head back to California-I-ay, with the wax figure that was Connor Foley trailing behind her.

Mary Sue straightened her posture as soon as the Z-list celebrities were gone and, after ordering Derrick to push Nina down the tunnel (which he did, thank you very much), she announced, "Time to play Spin the Shampoo Bottle."

"But, um, like," Alicia trilled, twirling a lock of blown-out dark hair around her manicured finger, "We don't have a bottle."

"Hmmm." Mary Sue tapped her perfect chin. "That _is _a problem."

Popping out from wherever she was lurking, Massie's evil face lit up with a smirk. From her Pucci purse she pulled out an exploded bottle of Bumble & Bumble shampoo, left over from the trip to Lake Placid. Remember when she went there? And acted like an ungrateful bitch even though she was staying at an Olympic training ground and subsequently pounced on Derrick in the snow?

"I say we use _this,_" Massie stated, an evil trail of cackles following.

"Sure." Kristen plopped down on the floor, crossing her legs under her.

"Why not?" Dylan followed suite, but not before burping loudly. Giggles from the Briarwood boys followed.

"Eh." I sat down as well, against my better judgement.

"Did someone say _'Spin the Shampoo Bottle'_?" From the door, Tiny Nathan and Todd stood with hungry looks on their faces. Behind them, a pouting Chris Abeley picked at his black nail polish; lithe, blond Fawn crossed her arms over her Calvin Klein-clad self and Griffin traded tips about depression with Chris, who was in HIGH SCHOOL and way too OLD to be dating innocent, permanently PMS-ing MIDDLE SCHOOLERS!

Good Lord.

This is the eighth grade, people. It's not a funeral. You guys have nothing to be depressed about!

"I'm in." Todd's eyes glowed with something like lust. Or hormones. He sat next to Alicia, who was sitting next to Josh, close enough to be on his lap.

Grinning, Tiny Nathan took a seat as well. Looking bored, everyone but Fawn did as well. She merely sat upon one of the empty chairs and scrolled through her old text messages from Chris, laughing loudly every time she came upon a particularly heartfelt and/or gay one.

"Claire has to go first," Massie said quickly, handing over the dripping bottle to the petite blonde.

Shrugging her shoulders, Claire obliged. Even though the bottle was sticky, it still spun relatively well. Going round in circles five times, it landed primly Dylan.

"Come 'ere, smexy." Dylan Marvil puckered up her lips in a weeping Claire's direction. The Briarwood boys looked on, with more interest than necessary. Of course, Massie quickly nixed it, knowing Lisi couldn't have her precious characters be acting in such a provocative manner. Hello. This wasn't _Beverly Hills 90210 _or anything. Hell, it wasn't even _Gossip Girl. _

"Re-do," Plovert sang, adjusting his Adidas shorts so they hung lower on his hips. In the words of Summer Roberts, ew.

"Fine," Claire said, giving the bottle another aggressive twirl. This time it landed on Plovert himself. He smiled slightly.

Dylan's red eyebrows knit.

Using my Jedi mind-reading powers, I deduced that she had once been part of some creepy threesome with Plovert and Kemp.

Um, that's not weird at all!

The blonde cocked her head to the side slightly and her eyelids fluttered closed when Plovert's lips made impact with her own. It was a chaste kiss. Claire blushed; Plovert beamed. High-fives and chest-bumps went around the boys' side and the girls merely dissolved into giggles and "Whhoooooh"s.

As the rules pertained, Claire got to pick who went next.

She chose me.

Just because my lips were in a firm, unglossed-except-for-some-Blistex line, doesn't mean I wasn't smiling on the inside. Oh, wait. Yes it does.

Choosing to humour them, I tapped my nails with the chipped red polish against my knees before giving the little bottle a long whirl. It spun. And spun. And spun. Chrouses of "Ehmagawd" followed.

And then it landed.

On Todd.

Holy shit.

I've never been all that religious, but, I sent a little prayer up to the powers that be right then and there: _Dear God or whoever, please, please, please, let this kid have brushed his teeth. _

Tiny Nathan, who was just as tiny as his name would have you think, couldn't stop the huge grin from spreading to Todd's freckled face as well. Massie laughed in her same evil way. I wondered if she rigged that thing.

So I kissed Todd. A quick peck. Shorter than Claire's. About two Mississippis long. His mouth tasted like Cool Ranch Doritos.

Did I ever tell you?

No?

I absolutely _loathe _Doritos.

--

**With any luck, I'll have the much longer, partie duex of this up tomorrow. Or perhaps even later today, depending on how bitchy the muse is being. **


	6. Return of the Crack Pairings

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Like you couldn't figure that out.

**Author's Note:** _Thanks cruiseaholic, paintless-ding-repair, emeraldeyes101, MissMeg377 and Cela Fille for reviewing! All the continuous support I've been getting for this parody is great. Love you guys! _

_**Haritha**: I keep trying to encorporate Massie's horse, I laughed out loud at your suggestion! _

_**ALSO**: EVERYONE, please keep on sending in the names of characters you'd like to appear!_

"Massie, you're up," I said with a drawn-on smile. I threw the bottle at her head. It missed. Sometimes I wished us giraffes had better aim. Or, you know, opposable thumbs.

"Of course." She doesn't catch the bottle; it crashes into her shoulder blade, leaving a sticky patch on her cashmere sweater. "Guh-ross!"

My sentiments exactly.

Her reverse French-manicured fingers clasped loosely around the neck of the bottle. She paused, only adding to the purple cloud of drama that seemed to follow her around everywhere she went. It spun. Once, twice, three times...

"Guh-riffin!"

His dark eyes, rimmed with kohl, sparkled. Mind powers at work again, I read his thoughts: _Time to corrupt another young innocent... _The floppy-haired pizza place heir stood up and strolled over to the yellow-eyed former-Alpha. His black-painted fingers rested under her chin, drawing her up. He went in for it. Obviously wanting to stir the water, her fingers clutched to several greasy strands of hair. Seven whole steamboats. Who knew Massie had it in her?

As the couple parted ways, whoops filled the awkward silence. Licking her top teeth, Massie made a show of uncapping her Urban Decay lip-gloss and coating her now-kissing-swollen lips in a layer of strawberry-flavoured Kismet.

"Kuh-risten." Massie smiled benevolently, leaning forward (and - _unknowingly?_- giving the guys a hint of almost-Alicia-esque cleavage) and tossed the blonde with sharp soccer-toned calves and a side braid, the wet shampoo bottle. A leak of shampoo landed in Kristen's palm, but she wiped it on her ripped jean cutoffs, in that lame-o beachy style she was wearing to honour her boyfriend-of-like-one-minute, Dune.

"Thanks," Kristen replied, juggling the sticky mess quickly before placing it in the center of the people circle and giving in a whirl. It spun for longer than mine did, causing groans and moans and other "-oan" words to escape the cracked lips of the Briarwood boys and the ultra-glossy ones of the NPC.

Tiny Nathan.

Todd high-fived his pal of three books.

I have to admit, as Kristen wrinkled her nose before planting a quick peck on the corner of Tiny Nathan's mouth, I felt bad for the girl. Sympathy even. Something Lisi never made me feel for her.

"That's not a real kiss," Derrick mock-scolded as the spit-swappers departed. His floppy hair hung adorably in his eyes, but I've never been into blondes much. Besides, I already had a boyfriend...

"Whatever," Kristen whispered, at a barely audible level. She moved her green-blue-ugh-whatever-coloured eyes from the straps of her leather American Eagle flip-flops to Derrick's caramel eyes. "Your turn."

He shot the blonde a wink. "Thanks, Kris. My pie hole was getting sore from lack of lip-to-lip contact. You're a doll."

If this was a cliche Clique novel, the shampoo bottle would've landed on Kristen Gregory. Too bad it's Lisi's day off and Gabbi's turn to record the shallow lives of the NPC and their male counterparts. Anyway, as luck would have it, the dreaded bottle containing the fears and hopes of every one of us landed smack dab back at Massie Block. Her amber eyes twinkled, before rolling in identical circles.

"Figures," she mumbled.

The former Alpha couple of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder School, er, _Octavian Country Day School, _walked into the middle of the circle. Brushing her side bangs across her face hotly, she then placed her hands delicately at the base of his neck and planted a ripe one on his surprised lips. He thought she would chicken out, like she did when they were together. Instead, they shared the best kiss they ever had, before Massie pulled away. A smirk coloured her pale face.

"Demspey's way better." And with that, she strolled back to her spot on the carpet and took a seat.

Bringing a finger to her chin, the jury inside Massie's effed-up brain took a few long moments for deliberation. Finally, she decided upon: "Dylan."

"WAAH!" Mary Sue's eyes flooded with hot tears. "Why isn't anyone picking me?"

I knew the answer: Her perfect lips would make whoever kissed them fall deeply in love with her. (Because, of course eighth graders are "in love.")

It landed on Cam.

Uh-oh.

The brunet with the mismatched eyes shot Claire a wistful look before scootching over to the redhead's side. She tilted her head. Time to get stripped of her lip-virginity!

He parted his lips and set his hand on the hollow of Dylan's shoulder.

And they kissed.

One Mississippi. Dylan blushed. Then burped. She whispered into Claire's ear, loudly enough for me to overhear. "Ehmagawd, Kuh-laire. Why you refused that pair of lips on a complete HART, I'll never know."

Raising her blond eyebrows that tended to disappear against her pale skin, Claire echoed back, "Ehmagawd, Dylan. I suppose I forgot to tell you he's a DUHLIVIA-DATING ass wipe!"

Dylan's tooth clenched onto the glossy flesh of her bottom lip for dear life. "Joshie..." Using a sweet overhand spike that would've landed her a spot on the volleyball team had it not been a sport for sweaty girls in short shorts, Dylan tossed Josh Hotz the shampoo bottle that had broken so many hearts and birthed cracks in previously flawless relationships.

Or maybe I'm just being melodramatic.

It spun.

And spun.

And spun.

Before finally landing squarely on a blonde with wide blue eyes.

No, no, not Kristen. Her eyes are green. Or, uh, blue. Or..._whatever. _

Oh yeah, I'm talking about Claire Stacey Lyons.

Her nibbled fingers combed through her pin-straight blond hair. Hey, Blondie. Just get some of that "No Bite" clear nail polish that tastes like ass and vingear from CVS. It totally works. Come to the dark side, we have prettier nails.

"Claire," Josh whispered into her ear when they were close enough to share lungs. "I never really forgot that time in Lake Placid when I was acting like a creepy stalker man and was placing my hands on 'the small of your back' and crap. If this wasn't eighth grade and we weren't such immature idiots, I would totally go all rom-com on you and say that I love you."

"Why Josh," Claire put a hand to her throbbing heart, her other hand grazed his cheek. "That is the sweestest thing someone never said to me!"

The newly-appointed couple shared a long, dramatic, _One Tree Hill_-esque lip-lock. I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure Claire finally allowed Josh's tongue to poke through. Maybe even some lip nibbling?

The others looked on in amusement.

Alicia tore off her tacky pink Yankees cap. Good riddance if you ask me. Yet again, I find myself wondering: WHY ARE THEY ALLOWED TO WEAR HATS IN SCHOOL?

"This game is over!"

Massie placed her hands on her hips.

Derrick shot up from the ground and ran to her side.

"Massie, you are my one true love!"

Adoringly, Massie hopped into his warm embrace and threw her bony arms around his neck.

"_As are you, Derringto_- Um, like, I mean Derrick!"

Another kiss.

"MASSIE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT SHORTS-WEARING LBR? I THOUGHT YOU WERE IN LOVE _AVEC MOI_?"


	7. The Plan

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Like you couldn't figure that out.

**Author's Note: **Yayers. Almost at fifty reviews! I read each and every one of them and lovelovelove your support. _Dempsey has green eyes, right?? I can't remember and am too lazy to trudge back upstairs to get the books. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. _Oh my god this is so late! Grrr...I kept putting off finishing this one. Oh, well. Hope you like it.

Silence.

"So is Dempsey like totally gay or what?"

Massie, not even bothering to unclasp her hands from Derrick's neck (which looked kind of pale and hairy, but that's just my third-party opinion), swivelled her head like an Ikea chair to roll her eyes at me. "Gawd. You are so ah-nnoying."

Chipper as ever, I agreed, "I know."

Sure as the full moon, the entire NPC - including Mary Sue, God she caught onto these things fast - rolled their perfectly lined eyes, smacked their perfectly glossed lips and sharply crossed their perfectly toned legs.

Dempsey dramatically pawed at a glassy tear. "My heart..." He was dressed in full-on safari gear and even though he was supposedly an Ehmagawd!-worthy HART...he seemed kind of lame. Like someone had picked attributes out of a hat and decided to just go with it. You know? 'Hmm...let's give him...the perfect tan...and, oh, how about blond hair? And maybe...er, green eyes?'

"How dare you leave me - your one true love - for that Alpha spot-stealing..._meanie_!" Fully affronted, the strangely OC-like guy stomped his work boot-clad foot against the marble flooring - which was dusted with...well, dust from Mary Sue falling out of the ceiling earlier.

Kristen, feeling typically neglected, slurped loudly from a piping-hot cup of Starbucks that had materialized in her waiting hand. Coffee? At age twelve? (Since they never seem to age...in fact I think I saw Massie's face in last month's _Skeptic_- the premier magazine for alien conspiracy theorists...just saying.) SERIOUSLY?? ISN'T THAT HORRIBLE FOR YOUR TEETH OR SOMETHING?? "Dempsey Solomon did nawt just say 'meanie.'"

"Yes, he did," I pointed out.

"No, he did _nawt_." Kristen, blue-green-blue-green eyes alit, snorted, sending a splash of hot liquid tumbling down the front of her nawt-designer-but-almost teal miniskirt.

"Don't mess with me, bitch." Feeling happy with the way the universe was working, especially as Massie, Derrick, and Dempsey - what's her obsession with the letter D? - were in the middle of a heated, but pointedly swearing-free debate.

"Ugh!" The athletic blonde turned to her partner-in-getting-forgotten, Dylan Marvil, and let her jaw drop. "This is not happening! I borrowed this skirt from Massie, like, a week ago!"

And, suddenly, Massie's short attention span was recaptured. "WHAT!? KUH-RISTEN YOU BETTER NOT HAVE JUST SAID WHAT I THINK YOU JUST SAID!"

_Oh, but she did. _

She loosened her hands from Derrick's neck. I noticed that he began to rub furiously at his now-pinkish-coloured neck. Wow - who knew she had such a grip? (This is where a pack of sore-speckled LBRs come running to share their stories of pain and agony and sharp nails.)

Kristen's lower lip - reflectively glossy, as per NPC law - quivered. "I- I- didn't mean to. It was an accident. It was her!" She pointed her decal'd nail at my nose. "Her!"

Looking completely confused, I rolled my eyes irritatedly. These girls were so annoying. "Um. It's your own fault, miss forgettable."

"I! Am! NOT! Forgettable!" The blonde jutted her chin out in Kemp's direction. "Tell her, Kemp."

"Um, who are you again?" Kemp, bushy hair wild, furrowed his dark brows. "Seriously, do I know you?"

"Of course you do! I'm the smart one, who's actually kind of stupid because I ran away to Lake Placid only to pointlessly hide under a mattress and do nothing! We almost kissed at the Valentine's Day dance!"

"Nope." He shook his head, sending a group of curls tumbling over the bridge of his nose. "Still not ringing any bells."

"WAHH!" She dissolved into a puddle of tears - okay, not really. That was just a metaphor. "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE REMEMBER ME?"

"Because you have no personality," I pointed out. "In the first book, you were supposed to be the meanest one, but over the series you've become this girl who seems to fit in with Claire and the LBRs more than this 'A-List' clique of yours. You better watch your back, Kathy."

"MY NAME," she sobbed loudly, "IS KRISTEN! KRISTEN GORDON!"

"Um, wrong." Dylan burped for added effect. I figured she had some major gas issues or something. "Your last name is _Gregory_."

"Oh. Oops." She giggled, then turned to Dylan. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

Massie, still recovering from her meltdown, snapped her fingers and widened her freaky yellow eyes. "Hello. Pay attention to me. I am the Alpha after all."

"No, I am." Derrick crossed his arms over his soccer jersey-clad chest. "Don't you remember the pathetic last chapter of _Sealed With A Diss_, where you bitch about 'losing your Alpha spot' to me?"

To match his position, she crossed her arms as well. "Unfortunately."

Claire sniffed under her breath, "You're not allowed to say..._that word_, Derrick."

**000 **

_Meanwhile... _

**000 **

Alicia Rivers smirked evilly, her brown eyes sparkling in a way that was totally freaky and not at all endearing like Lisi Harrison seemed to think. "For once and for all, I will reign over OCD like a dark, foreboding cloud!"

Faux-livia snort-laughed. "That was, like, funny... Because 'rain' and the other, er, 'reign.' You're so funny, Leesh."

"I know I am." The wannabe-Alpha checked her blinged-out silver timepiece. "All I have to do is get rid of Mary Sue and Massie."

Faux-livia gasped, wrinkling her nose in the process. She cringed. "Owie." When Alicia gave her The Look, the surgically enhanced blonde shrugged her shoulders. "It's still tender from my last...uh, sick day."

They were sitting in the small, boxed-in room which Alicia used for her weird little newscast things. More often than not, it served as a make-out room for the ninth-graders. Discarded tubes of lip-gloss (and, ooh, from the mature high school-age girls, _lipstick_) could often be found scattered around the place and Alicia made it a habit to collect them and give to various NPC members for gifts, hoping they would catch some tragically incurable disease.

"Okay, whatever."

Alicia's grin only grew.

"Time to execute the plan..."

**000**

**_To be continued... _**

**000**

"Wait!" Faux-livia called as she scrambled to catch up to Alicia's mind-blowingly...slow pace. "What's the plan?"

"I haven't thought of one yet. We'll just make it up as we go along."


End file.
